


Fel Inquisition

by Kalla_Moonshado



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: (told you the inquisitor would get a name!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, Gen, I did mention angst right?, M/M, Medivh said you shouldn't do that, Not that Khadgar listens like ever, Post Legion, Pre BfA, Psychological Torture, THIS is why you don't muck with TIME, Torture, angst and a lot of it, prompt, wibbly wobbly timey wimey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15383538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalla_Moonshado/pseuds/Kalla_Moonshado
Summary: Prompt: Medivh has gone missing. Khadgar's only clue is a Legion sigil burned into Karazhan's floor. He must find Medivh before the Inquisitor who took him succeeds in his plans for the former Guardian.Written for @medivhthecorrupted on Tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [medivhthecorrupted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/medivhthecorrupted/gifts).



> This was a bribe in exchange for a second dice-roll so an RP wouldn't go so far down Death's Dark Way that we couldn't retrieve it. Not that I mind. I would have written it if it was handed to me anyway XD  
> The only other parameter other than 'post Return to Karazhan' was 'lots of angst'... so ... be prepared for the angstcoaster of a lifetime, if I do this right.
> 
> However... it is still up to MY dice on whether or not there will be a happy ending.  
> Meant to be a 'short story' but took on a bit of a life of its own.
> 
> Special thanks to @selarcis (the fiance) for letting me steal his personification of Moroes.

Khadgar had forgotten just how cold winter got in Karazhan. Considering it was in the south, he expected it to be somewhat temperate, much like Stormwind. He could hear the wind howling outside, and it only made him groan and snuggle deeper into the blankets covering him. He shifted over, one arm reaching out to find his usual source of warmth: Medivh.

His arm fell on cooler sheets, and his eyes snapped open. If Medivh had only just gotten up, he’d have felt warmth. His eyes confirmed what he’d felt and he frowned. He sat up and pushed his hair out of his face. No wonder it was cold; the bed-curtains had been left open on Medivh’s side.

Wait a moment… That wasn’t right either. It was very rarely this cold this high in the tower, and it was dark; the only light filtered in through the curtain and was clearly from one of the crystal globes that illuminated the chamber, left low. (It wouldn’t do for one of them to go tripping on things on the way to the facilities after all.) He threw the blankets aside, pushed the curtains open and looked around.

Nothing was out of place. Well. Nothing unusual, anyway. The bed chamber was never what Moroes would call ‘tidy’. It was a cluttered ‘organized chaos’. Books were often piled on small tables, usually migrated from downstairs. Paperwork had likewise migrated, as had a few objects in various states of repair that found themselves forgotten (for the moment) on worktables. Nothing was out of place since last night.

Khadgar stood up, leaned against the bedpost and stretched. “Med?” he called softly, just in case the older mage had just fallen asleep downstairs. There was no answer. With a sigh, Khadgar pulled his lounging robe from the bedpost and pulled it on. He didn’t much care about going around the tower naked, but the chill…

Medivh would never forgive him if he froze his best assets off.

The moment he stepped off the rug he hissed. The flagstones were like ice. He backtracked and slid his feet into slippers before trying again. Carefully, he descended the stairs and looked around. The study was as it always was. Anything not requiring work in a laboratory was set up on tables, the restored font seemed normal, and the chaise that they often sprawled to read was empty. Medivh was not there.

He picked up a blanket from the chaise and wrapped it around himself. Why was the tower so bloody _cold_? He took a long look around the study, then left it.

And realized at once something was very, very wrong. If he thought the study and bedroom had been cold, it was nothing to what it was outside it. He started down the stairs, pulling the blanket a little tighter before encountering something sharp. He frowned and realized it was Medivh’s lounging robe that he’d picked up. Odd, considering that was what he typically chose to wear if he wasn’t planning on doing anything but reading. Khadgar rearranged it and pulled the hood over his head, then continued down the stairs.

The sitting rooms were empty. The guest hall was empty, though he did pause to ask the Maiden there if she had seen him. He was treated to a lecture on perfidy that caused him to roll his eyes before she started on him.

“Lady, with all due respect, I have never once been with someone other than my partner in either of the two relationships I’ve had in my life.” It caused her to stop short and eye him warily. He fled before she could say more.

The libraries, the observatory, the laboratories were all as empty as well. Khadgar finally plopped down on the stairs and sighed. The cold seeped up through his rear and made him shiver again, but he remained there, mentally going over where else Medivh might have gone.

“Is something the matter?” Khadgar’s head jerked up, causing the hood to fall from his face. “Oh. You were not who I expected.”

“Moroes – have you seen Medivh? I can’t find him. And why is it so _cold_?” Khadgar got to his feet, wincing a little at the stiffness in his joints.

The castellan frowned, then shook his head, slowly. “No, I have not seen him since you retired last night. Is something the matter?” he asked again. “As for the cold – I… assume it is the weather.” He gestured out one of the large windows, and Khadgar’s heart sank.

Since when did a blizzard come this far south? He rubbed his temples and looked back at Moroes. “I can’t find Medivh at all. He wasn’t there when I woke, and I’ve been all over the tower.”

Moroes was quiet for so long that Khadgar wondered if he was still ‘there’. “Try below,” he finally said, reluctantly. “It is usually warm below. Perhaps he went there.”

Below. A place Khadgar tried very hard to forget. He sighed, nodded, and rearranged the cloak around him. “Thank you, Moroes. I will look there.”

Moroes nodded. Khadgar had a feeling he too wanted to forget the place existed, considering. With a sigh, the castellan moved off. “In the meantime, I will see about warming things a bit more up here. He should not go down there. Never go down there…” he trailed off as he moved up the stairs.

Khadgar shivered, though this time it had nothing to do with the cold. When he reached the section of wall, he hesitated before raising a hand and triggering the mechanism to open it. He winced at the grind of stone against stone as it opened, and left it open as he started down the stairs.

It was no warmer down here, no matter how far he went, past the archives, past the kennel, past the rooms he did not dare even look into – until he reached the bottom.

For a moment, he wondered if, after all this time, another vision had taken hold of him. It was no warmer here, which was odd in and of itself, but the room looked far worse than the last time he had left it. The floor was cracked, the walls scorched. But the room did not hold Medivh.

Etched into the floor in a sickly green color was a sigil Khadgar had gotten to know all too well in the past months, and one he thought he would never have to see again.

He had thought the Legion finished, once the Pantheon had imprisoned Sargeras. He had thought their only worry now was the gargantuan blade sticking out of the glassy surface of Silithus, and the golden blood seeping out around the wound that was apparently a cause for war on the horizon.

Clearly the Legion was not finished, or there had been some further instruction. Khadgar moved forward to inspect the mark, his eyes tracing the outline, one hand reaching to hover over it.

Anger bordering rage welled up within him. A deep thirst for revenge and a desire to destroy followed. He recognized both as not himself as he stepped back.

So. The Legion – or a part of it – lived on, somewhere. Khadgar frowned; that could be anywhere, on any Legion-claimed world. Argus was gone, Sargeras imprisoned – and the only known artifact that could take him where he wanted to go was with Sargeras, still held, as far as he was aware, by Illidan Stormrage.

Khadgar backed away, stopping only when his foot encountered the stairs. Wherever that pocket of Legionites was, he was certain he would find Medivh.

He did not relish the idea of having to comb the Great Dark for that place. But he would die before he left Medivh in their hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Medivh awoke to the sound of bells. Familiar bells. It had been a very long time since he had awakened to the sound of Stormwind’s cathedral bells. Curious, he opened his eyes – to find himself in familiar surroundings. The heavy bed curtains blocked light, though did not block out the sound. He turned his head at the sound of a soft snore that was silenced as Khadgar turned over.

This wasn’t Stormwind. This was Karazhan. Then why…?

Medivh got up, pulled his robe from the bedpost and shoved the curtains aside as he pulled on the robe. The dim light was enough to see by, but it came from one of the crystal orbs that provided the light so far up the tower at night. Which it clearly still was, judging by the darkness outside the windows. The only other source of light was the font downstairs, the blue-white of it danced off the ceiling and the walls, almost in time with the sound of the bells that still rang… somewhere. Surely not from inside the tower; Karazhan had no bell tower that he was aware of.

The tower was chilly, but then again, he could hear wind outside. So. Likely a winter storm was blowing in. With the way it howled against the stone, he was fairly certain that it would be quite a blow when it finally arrived. So close to Stranglethorn, he had not expected it to get that cold here – but when storms blew in off the sea, they could bring with them a bitterly chill bite on occasion. No matter.

He descended the stairs, and looked around. The sound of the bells was a bit louder down here, and for a moment, he thought they might be coming from the font. But when he approached it, the sound grew faint. All right then, not from the font.

He left the study, and when he turned from closing the doors, he stood in a very familiar corridor. A corridor that was most certainly _not_ a part of Karazhan. The bells were much louder now, and it was warm here. Light poured in from the windows on either side of him, and brought with it a warmth that he knew well.

Stormwind in summer, and in mid-afternoon. So he was dreaming. He smiled, made sure that his robe was done up properly, and moved on – just in case.

He met no one as he walked, which was odd. In the height of summer, he should have at least met guards, if not other nobles wandering the corridors or … ah. Of course. The courtyards would be full of people at this hour, taking advantage of the shade in the gardens and the grottoes by the lake, and he was certain there would be youngsters in the lake itself.

Medivh’s steps turned a corner, and he frowned. There was no one here, either. He continued to move, concerned now. The bells grew louder the longer he walked, and when he reached one of the main exits of the Keep, he stopped short.

The courtyard beyond was as empty as the corridors. There were no voices. He turned, now jogging down the corridor, turning down another that he knew led to the throne room.

Only he found that empty as well. Instinctively, he looked up, and the map of the Eastern Kingdoms spread over the ceiling made his heart jump. This was not the Stormwind of the time he lived in now, but the Stormwind of his youth. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all.

He turned and headed to another room he frequented, down this corridor, a right, a short ways, and then a left. He lifted his hand, ready to knock, when the door opened of its own accord. It was exactly as he remembered it; Anduin Lothar’s chambers were never tidy, armor in various states of (dis)repair lying across the tables, a half-mended cuirass on the arm of the couch, a torn gambeson tossed over the back. “Anduin?” he called, softly. The room felt… cold. Eerie. His eyes were drawn to the door leading to the rest of the apartment, but he backed out of the room, knowing that his friend was not here.

He tried again, his steps brisk as he wound his way to where Llane had lived – and was shaken to find no guards anywhere in the wing at all. Once again, as he raised a hand to knock, the door opened on its own. The room was just as cold, just as empty – though much tidier. Taria’s hand, he suspected.

He backed out of the sitting room, and looked around. _All right,_ he thought, heading down the corridor that would lead him outside. _Something isn’t right here. Why?_

Apart from the simple and nagging fact that this was not Stormwind as it stood today, but a Stormwind preserved in his memories. He stepped out of the heavy doors, and blinked in the bright sunlight. When his eyes had adjusted, he gasped. Stormwind itself was empty. Perfectly preserved, but… so still that it could have been a child’s model.

And yet, the bells still tolled. His eyes were dragged up and out to the cathedral itself, and he sighed. Whatever this vision or haunting or whatever was happening to him – if it was not actually a dream – seemed to want him to go there.

So go there, he did. And took his time about it, taking the opportunity to take in the place he had grown up, the place that would always be ‘home’ in his heart, no matter how much Karazhan was his home now, and how much the current Stormwind would, and could never be. A place that was home, no matter how much prejudice there was against him here, until he took his place as Guardian. With that thought, his eyes drifted towards the market district, where his hands, one of them gripping Atiesh, and the top of his head were visible over the shops and homes even so far away.

The courtyard in front of the cathedral was empty, and he could see movement from within the building. Could this, then, be the reason Stormwind seemed deserted? He moved up the steps and through the huge doors.

To once again, find nothing. His heart sank, and he lifted a hand to press against his ear. The bells were deafening here, where the sound echoed off the walls and grew confused. A flash of movement beyond the pulpit caught his eyes, and he moved instinctively toward it, as the figure or whatever he had seen vanished down a corridor to the side.

He found a staircase leading downward, and he took it, realizing it was a spiral stair, similar to that which so many visitors had complained of in Karazhan. The stairs were… too familiar, in fact, and about halfway down, he slowed his descent, though did not stop.

At the bottom, he found himself somewhere horrifyingly familiar, and immediately tried to back his way up the stairs. It was the chamber at the bottom of the reversed tower of Karazhan. The very place he had died, and had avoided since.

“About time,” a voice drawled. “I was starting to think you’d never show up, Med.” The voice belonged to Anduin Lothar, but it was not an Anduin Lothar he knew. The blue eyes were cold and angry, tinged green around the rim of the iris, the smile was bitter.

“He was always somewhat slow.” Medivh whipped around to find Llane leaning against his worktable, his eyes glowing faintly green, and nothing like what they should have been, deep, warm and honeyed hazel-brown. “At least when it didn’t come to reading or magic.”

Medivh backed partially up the stairs, when he ran into something solid. “Going somewhere, Master?” He turned, his eyes widening further as he saw Khadgar, as he had looked when he was younger, his eyes as cold as the day he had run a blade through his mentor’s heart, glowing a bright but sickly green. He took a step back, and found air instead of the next step down, stumbled, and fell.

He lifted himself as the bells suddenly stopped, and he was surrounded by familiar, but not familiar ‘friends’, the dream turning nightmare in a matter of heartbeats. If it was a dream. That fall had felt awfully real.

He looked up, though dropped his eyes. He could not meet any of the ones staring at him now, knowing he had failed each of these men to the last.

And yet… upstairs, he knew, was a sleeping version of the young man before him, one who, despite what had happened, was now his life-mate and partner, whose heart was forgiving, whose love and trust had transcended time.

He lashed out, his hand glowing, and struck the younger Khadgar, the whip of power lashing across the younger man’s chest as the elder mage got to his feet. “You are not what you pretend. I _know_ better.” Khadgar shimmered for a moment, and a laughing felguard stood in his place. Medivh’s heart sank, even as he struck again, and a third time, ignoring the dark green ichor that splattered his robes as he killed the demon who had dared take the image of his beloved student.

He turned back to the images of Llane and Lothar, both still watching him with fel-touched eyes. “You are both dead. One by treachery, one in battle.”

Llane laughed, though the sound was nothing like the rich laughter he knew so well. “By your hands, in the end, Guardian,” he sneered. “On your orders.”

Hiding the wince at the words, Medivh lashed out at Llane. He knew it had been his own fault his dearest friend had fallen. Knew it was his doing that led to it. Knew that he could have stopped it if only he had been stronger. And he took the anger at himself out on the doomguard Llane had become, pouring more power than was necessary into his spells and didn’t stop until the mangled form didn’t move again.

Before he could turn to Anduin, however, a hand grabbed him by the throat, claws digging into it far closer to his jugular than he wanted to think about. “Enough, little mage. Enough. Your actions caused our Master to fall. And now we’re going to find out just how you’ve managed it, considering that the only reason he fell was because of your death, and yet you have the gall to breathe now. You have the nerve to spend your days with the whelp who brought it about. And we’re going to find out just what it is that managed it.”

Medivh struggled for breath, his hands lifting to try to pry the clawed fingers from his throat, but he could only gasp for air as his vision began to go dark, his last thought drifting upwards in a last desperate cry for help.


	3. Chapter 3

Khadgar’s eyes were closed, his hand pressed to the icy floor. There was so little here for him to work with, other than fear that threatened to drown him. He tried, again and again, to work past it, trying to find Medivh’s thoughts through it, but could only find traces of negation, and something that chilled him to his marrow, and pain. He seized on the chill, trying to find a source for it.

It was something familiar. Angry voices. Familiar voices.

He shook his head and sat back on his heels, swearing. It could have been that this room remembered farther back than what he was looking for, considering his own voice, much younger, had been one of the voices he heard.

Regardless, when they had chosen to take his former mentor, they chose a place that would throw him nothing but confusion if he searched. Unless…

His eyes were drawn to the mark burned into the floor. He hadn’t wanted to touch it for fear of some kind of contamination – not that he was a stranger to that, but he’d sworn… His oaths would have to wait. There wasn’t time to consider his promises to avoid it.

He leaned forward again, this time planting his hand in the center of the mark, which seemed to be the only warm spot left in Karazhan’s tower. It seared his flesh, but he ignored it. If nothing else, Khadgar’s will was said to be unbreakable, and he pulled all of that will to him now as he dove into the recent past of the mark, how it was made, and why.

Answers came, faster than thought, faster than he could process them. The memories of one of the inquisitors, shrouding Medivh’s mind and leading him down here, giving him images of close friends. A location. A time. A place. And then nothing as a portal opened, closed, and silence swept the tower once more.

Khadgar was shivering when he pulled his hand away, though he was drenched in sweat, his robe clinging to him under Medivh’s. He stood up, swayed, and stumbled against a wall. Rapid footsteps descending the stairs were his only warning before Moroes gave a cry of shock and caught him as he fell.

 

“So. They have taken him.” Moroes sighed.

Khadgar nodded, slowly, his hands wrapped around a mug of something warm that Moroes had shoved into his hands the moment he had been able to sit up. He was in a comfortable chair in one of the sitting rooms, a fire blazing in the hearth, and Moroes had him wrapped in blankets. The castellan himself sat perched on the other chair, his lips pursed in thought.

Khadgar wasn’t certain what exactly had happened that Moroes seemed more… lively since he had returned. The man was certainly far more alive than he had been when Khadgar had been a student here, and seemed to be a more than capable mage in his own right. He was also brilliant, and fiercely loyal, and seemed to take it personally that the Legion had managed to take Medivh without his being aware of it.

“And you think you know where?” the old man pressed.

“Flashes, Moroes. Just flashes. A place I’ve never seen before. It could be anywhere…” Khadgar sighed, sipping the mug’s contents. Whatever it was, it was sharp, herbal, and seemed to spread warmth through him that the blankets could not offer. He suspected it was spiked.

He had told Moroes all he had found out. “Magic’s always been strong here. Not right.” The old man shook his head.

“Time never worked the same here as it did anywhere else, and reality is warped,” Khadgar murmured, taking another sip from his mug. “You didn’t hear anything or see him at all?” Moroes shook his head. The mage cursed. “I have to find him,” he said finally. “I can’t leave him there.”

“Might be possessed again, though, when you do,” Moroes pointed out.

“I’ll deal with that if it comes to it. I lost him once, Moroes. I was young and untested and couldn’t save him. Or you. Or …” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“It’s all right,” Moroes sighed. “When he went – you know – not right, I had a feeling it would come to it one day. It was only a matter of time.”

Their eyes met. There was an understanding there that Khadgar did not expect. “Not this time,” he said, firmly. “They won’t have him again.” _Regardless of the cost to me._ He drained his mug, then set it down. “I should get back to work. Thank you again, Moroes.”

“It’s why I’m here. Someone has to keep an eye on you and Medivh, after all. Guardian has to have someone. Even with you two together, you need someone to look after you.” There was a hint of a smile this time, and Khadgar had to look away.

_You chose well, Magna. I give you that for certain._

Khadgar rose from his nest, though would not leave Medivh’s lounge cloak behind. He needed the reminder of just what was at stake here.

 

Moroes found him in the library hours later, pen in hand, writing furiously and consulting a book that looked older than the tower itself. He watched the younger (by comparison) mage for a moment, and couldn’t help but smile. He was so like the master it was uncanny. No surprise, considering that this one had been his apprentice, but still. When he latched onto something he wouldn’t let go. He moved silently, and set a mug down within sight of the mage’s work.

Khadgar looked up. “Thank you,” he said softly. “What time is it?”

“Late. You should be resting. You won’t find him if you exhaust yourself,” Moroes said.

“Time isn’t on our side. The sooner I find him, the sooner I can figure out how to get him back here.” Khadgar ran a hand through his hair, forgetting his pen still in his hands, and streaking ink through the silver.

Moroes nodded, slowly. “What have you found?”

Was Moroes always this… talkative? Khadgar seemed to remember that Moroes was a man of few words. Was this what he was like… before the incident? “From what I saw, he could be here on Azeroth, or they could have taken him to somewhere on Draenor – which one, I don’t know, considering the Legion had holds on both the ones we know.” He picked up the mug to find it was filled with tea. Strong tea. “Wherever he is, it’s somewhere that they still have some kind of presence. Hidden, and hidden well, but the connection is still strong.” He looked up at Moroes. “I would have guessed here, before the conduits to the Nether were closed not long ago.”

Moroes frowned, leaning over the book Khadgar had open. “What about an alternate Azeroth, where the connections are still open?”

Khadgar’s mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped his mug. “I… never even…” His eyes closed. “It didn’t even cross my mind.” He sipped from the mug, his mind working again. “I’ll have to look again. It might be that… if that’s the case, then…” It was possible. Entirely possible. But then, the Legion was finished – and that would have been across any and all worlds. Gul’dan’s presence on this Azeroth had proven that. Hadn’t it?

He drained the mug, then set it back down. “I need to go back down there and test that theory.” He looked at Moroes. “Thank you.” Without another word, he gathered his notes and sprinted across the library and out the door.

Moroes sighed as he watched the familiar crimson robes whip around the corner. Yes. They were two of a kind. If only Time and circumstance had been kinder to them…


	4. Chapter 4

Medivh was awake. At least he thought he was. He could see nothing. He could hear voices, arguing in a language he knew, but could not seem to process. Demonic. He tried opening his eyes, but there was no difference in the darkness that surrounded him. The voices grew closer, and with them, the faint green glow of Fel. So he wasn’t blind after all. That was something.

He tried to move, and found he could not. He seemed to be pinned, his arms above his head – which would account for why they seemed to be numb. His legs were likewise numb, but he found he was in a kneeling position, and his ankles were bound together. The longer he was awake, the more he could tell about his surroundings, and the closer the voices – and the light – came.

He was in a small room, seemingly barely enough for him to kneel as he was with enough space to keep his arms above him. From the little light that filtered in, he could see the door was solid, with only a single small space where bars made a mockery of a window. He could turn his head, and did so, rolling a kink out of his neck; while he had been unconscious, his chin had rested against his bare chest. Another cursory look told him he had been divested of the robe he had been wearing.

 _This gets better all the time…_ He tried to arch his back to stretch it, and found he could, which relieved some of the pressure of his shoulders, and caused pins and needles to run up along his arms. Whatever was around his wrists was cold, and nothing like what held his ankles. An attempt to create a light shot pain down his arms that had nothing to do with the restoration of circulation. Fantastic! Magic suppression. Well, he should have expected that.

The voices grew louder still, and he looked up at the door as the light paused right in front of it, and something was done to the door, causing several locking mechanisms to clank loudly. The door opened, revealing an Eredar female. She looked him over, huffed, then reached above him to let his arms down. “You’re wanted.”

Medivh managed to lower his arms without falling as she reached behind him to release his ankles. She hauled him to his feet, huffing again when his legs refused to hold him up. “Weak human,” she snorted, holding him up for a moment. As blood returned to his feet, he swayed, but refused to make a sound, glaring daggers at her. The moment he could stand on his own, she gripped his arm and half led, half dragged him out of the room.

She led him along a corridor that he felt he should know, then up a set of spiraling stairs that were also familiar. He frowned as he took a moment to look around. It looked as though he was in Karazhan – but that wasn’t possible. If he was, then there would be no Legion forces here. There would also be help in the form of his former apprentice just up another two flights and –

He nearly fell again when he realized he was being led to his own observatory. The Eredar dropped him in the middle of it, near the balcony. He rose to his feet again, and she did not help him, nor did she push him back down.

Standing at the railing was a dark robed figure, and very suddenly, he understood just a little of what it must have felt for Khadgar, led to this very room so many years ago. The figure turned, and floated closer. He recognized the Inquisitor for what it was as cold eyes looked him over. He sensed amusement from it – him – it.

The masculine voice was harsh, but at the same time almost seductively persuasive. “So. The former Guardian returns home at last. Though not a home he recognizes, I’m sure.” The Inquisitor chuckled cruelly. “It will be, soon enough, now that you’ve made your return.”

Medivh said nothing, though he glared at the thing, letting his expression speak for him.

Another chuckle. “Well? Nothing? No. That’s fine. You need say nothing for the moment. We thought perhaps a familiar place would loosen your tongue, but clearly it has not. It will, it will. Before long, you’ll be shrieking everything you know, and some things you don’t know you do to the skies.” One skeletal hand gestured to a chair, one Medivh knew well, considering it was the one he had taken often in the evenings as he and Khadgar had spoken late into the night when the boy had been his student. Medivh glanced at it, then shifted his weight, and remained where he was.

Only now did the Eredar touch him again, pushing him into the chair and growling a warning at him. “Now then. Where to begin? This tower has begun to unravel to the ages. Shame, considering it has been abandoned for so long. We had expected your student to return to it long ago, but my sources say that your student – from this time, anyway, is far beyond where any of us can reach.”

Despite his desire to keep glaring, Medivh’s eyes closed. So. Whenever – wherever – this was, his apprentice had not survived. Had he then?

The Inquisitor answered that question before he could even think to voice it. “You were supposed to return, by the accounts we have. You have not – though I assume that would be because the meddling idiots from your shining city found and killed her ages ago. So. No one left to steward the secrets of this place. No one left to close the doorways. No one left to argue with us taking it over.” Medivh’s eyes opened, and he fixed his glare back on the Inquisitor. “No one left to interfere – no one left to look for you here.” Another cruel chuckle as the Inquisitor moved closer. “Not that this timeway, according to what we have seen, will survive – which begs the question: Will you survive when it all unravels, unable to traverse the Nether as we can?”

Medivh kept his silence, but his inner monologue was less than charitable. He knew he was, for the moment, powerless here. He could never claim to know all of Karazhan’s secrets, and if there was anyone who would know them, it would be himself, his mother, or his student – and none of them were here in this timeway. He had managed to leave nothing for his own life-mate to find in his own timeway, and for the first time, he began to wonder if he would be trapped here. Instead of despair, however, this just brought rage to the fore.

The Inquisitor stared at him, and he stared back. The Inquisitor laughed. “Well then. If that is your answer, it seems we will just have to locate your tongue. Perhaps it got lost on the way here.” It – He turned to the Eredar. “Take him upstairs. Let him make himself presentable. Feed him. We shall see if he’ll come around.”

Before the Eredar could move, Medivh finally spoke. “What do you want?”

The Inquisitor paused. “What do we want? Well, I personally would like to see you splattered across all of time and space for anyone to find, but before that, we’re going to find out just how you and the whelp managed to defeat not only Lord Sargeras, but also manage to get him imprisoned by those he had already conquered!”

There was anger in the demon’s voice now, and Medivh recoiled from it in disgust. “You may as well kill me now and save yourself the trouble.”

The Eredar laughed. “Now why would we do that? Your precious mate searches even now. Wouldn’t it be precious to allow him to find you and watch us do it then?”

Medivh paled, and now the despair did descend as he realized it wasn’t _him_ that these bastards wanted. It was _Khadgar_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little lighter, some introspection.

Moroes was used to minor explosions in nearly any location of the tower. He sighed as he descended the stairs and found Khadgar singed and shouting obscenities as he frantically tried to save the notes he had left the library with. Moroes had never come down here, and he didn’t much want to be here now – other than the fact that the Apprentice had gotten himself into trouble.

He sighed as he surveyed the damage, which wasn’t much, considering that there was nothing but iron and stone to damage. Whatever had caused the explosion was gone, if it ever existed in this Plane to begin with, and had merely shoved all of the furniture in the room against the walls.

The crackling after-effects told him that it had been the spell Khadgar had attempted. And it clearly had just barely failed. He shook his head, and did not move into the room, waiting until Khadgar had turned to face him. “Come on,” he said, blandly. “Upstairs. A wash. Some food. And then you can try again.”

Khadgar looked up, opened his mouth to argue, but sighed. Moroes was right. “I was so close,” he sighed. “I think I know where, and when… I’m missing something and I _don’t know what_!”

Moroes nodded. “I know. I can see. You can’t help him if you blow yourself up, though. Come on. He may be in no fit state to help himself, but you must be in top form if you are to help him.”

Khadgar didn’t move. Moroes shook his head and finally stepped into the room, taking the mage by the arm. “Come on, now.” He didn’t expect Khadgar to follow at once, nor did he expect the frustrated scream. Startled, he stepped backwards, looking at the mage, who now had a hand over his eyes. The castellan sighed, then rested a hand on his shoulder. “You worry for him.”

“I lost him once, Moroes. I…”

“Hush now. You won’t lose him. Not this time. You need a moment away from this before you hurt yourself. You are no good to him if you hurt yourself.”

The words finally managed to penetrate Khadgar’s frustration and drive, and he shook his head. “You’re right,” he murmured finally. He let the old man lead him up the stairs. All the way up the stairs.

“I’ve drawn a bath. A hot soak. And then some food. And then into the font with you. It is why it exists, so you do not burn yourself out. And then we can talk it through, find what you are missing.”

Reluctantly, Khadgar shed his clothing, feeling numb as he let Moroes aid him. He felt twice his age, and had a feeling that Moroes could feel the trembling in his limbs. He had lost track of time as he had started working on locating his missing life-mate, and was certain that the castellan had not.

As he sank back into the hot water (not without feeling a twinge of guilt, knowing that Medivh was likely being tortured for some reason or another as he did so), he closed his eyes.

“Better. I’ll fetch you when food is prepared.” He heard Moroes leave, and heard the door close softly.

His thoughts drifted as he stretched out, letting the heat do its work. He noticed there was a mineral tang in the air; the water was salted. A scent that reminded him painfully of Medivh also rose from the water, and he sighed.

The Kirin Tor had not been so pleased when he kept returning here every so often. He never said why he returned, other than the first time. He had been pleased to report that the Legion had not taken Karazhan, and that with Medivh’s aid, one of the Legion’s major agents had been put down – in the Netherspace that had begun to claim the tower. At first, he had returned with the intent of restoration, or to reclaim some of the library if he could.

And then he had run into Medivh, nearly literally. They had looked at each other for a long time. He didn’t remember which of them moved first, but he found himself in an embrace that had broken loose everything he had tried to bury when he had laid his mentor’s remains.

They talked, deep into the night, and it had felt like so many years ago, other than it was Khadgar who did most of the talking, laying bare everything he had done, and done wrong, across the years Medivh could not watch him, his regrets over what he had to do when Medivh had died.

There were tears. There was forgiveness. And something between them seemed to bring forth more. They only realized how long they had talked when dawn began to lighten the windows. And still they talked the morning through.

Khadgar returned to Dalaran with a lighter heart than he had in decades. And also the promise of more. He returned every few nights, until something seemed to break. He couldn’t be sure who acted first, though morning found them a contented tangle in the bedroom they now shared. Once he had left for Argus, however, he began to wonder if it had been wise. He wondered if he would ever return, just as he had when he stepped across the Dark Portal to Draenor.

But he had. And had returned to a bittersweet victory. The Legion was gone, but Azeroth gravely wounded. And once again he had returned – and before he left Dalaran this time, he had mentioned that he would not be returning to Dalaran full time. He would step down if it was required of him, but he would remain in Karazhan.

Other than the ongoing search for what to do about Azeroth’s wound, things had been quiet. He found himself content for the first time since he had left the tower in the first place. Somehow.

His thoughts drifted to Moroes, and the change in him. Oh he had returned when Medivh did, at first, but had gone missing soon after. Once he returned from Argus, he found the castellan much changed. Younger, more attentive, more to Medivh than to him, until now.

He shifted in the water, sighing. Even when he was younger, he had tried not to trouble the old man much. He wasn’t always successful in that, but… He did try. Though perhaps it was in part why the castellan was so warm to him now. That and he did something that no one else could do – he was Medivh’s companion. A permanent one, and not just for companionship, but for much more.

He slid down into the water, ducking his head before resurfacing and reaching for soap. He had a feeling he was seeing Moroes as he had been before … before Medivh had blasted the tower, inadvertently killing everyone within, apart from Moroes and Cook. If that was truth, he began to wonder.

Moroes had always been there. Had he come to love Medivh in the end, and was now finding that he cared for Khadgar as well?

He shook the thought off as he ducked again to rinse his hair out. As he washed the rest of him, he found the heat and whatever Moroes had added to the bath had calmed him significantly. He felt more stable, even though it must have been at least a day since he last slept.

He was cupping water over the last of the suds when Moroes returned, his arm laden with a towel and a fresh robe. Khadgar squelched the memory of seeing him in a similar position as an exhausted Medivh stumbled into his bedroom downstairs. Instead, he lifted himself out of the tub, took the towel with a word of thanks, and dried himself.

“Feeling better?”

“Much better. Thank you, Moroes.”

“You’re alike, you are. You and Medivh.”

Khadgar paused in drying his hair, letting the towel fall to his shoulders. “What?”

Moroes gently plucked the towel from Khadgar’s shoulders and handed him the robe. “You start something, and drive yourself into the ground until you are finished. Dangerous thing. Expected it of the Guardian. Didn’t expect it from you.”

Khadgar slid the robe on, not knowing how to answer at first. “I was his apprentice,” he said finally. “I was expected to be the next Guardian, if nothing had gone wrong. He claims I am.”

Moroes laughed softly. “You are. Both of you. Cut of the same cloth. He was right about you.” He draped the towel over the rim of the tub as he reached to drain it. “Come, I’ve made stew, and after that, into the font. No argument! Chop chop!”

Khadgar chuckled. And suddenly understood how it was Medivh didn’t completely go mad in his isolation. With Moroes here, he might manage to find Medivh, and either they would both return, or, he suspected, neither of them would.


	6. Chapter 6

Vanity was one of Medivh’s flaws. So too, he thought, was survival. He let himself be led up the stairs and into a bathing room he knew quite well. He crossed his arms and glared at the Eredar woman though, refusing to budge on that until she had left him to his own devices. He looked down at his wrists once she was gone, turning them over one at a time to see if there was a way out of the damned bracers. They had no hinge, no visible catch. He shrugged, and blandly hoped the water wouldn’t ruin them. What a shame _that_ would be.

The water in the bath was clean, at least, and blessedly hot after his wandering around in the nude for so long. He inspected the supplies laid out for him, shocked that the soap his alternate self had was the same as he used. After a moment, he realized he shouldn’t be so shocked. He supposed no matter what timeway it was, he was still him.

He sank into the water with a groan, and felt the heat pick out bruises and minor abrasions. He grumbled a little that the water was not treated with mineral salts as he was used to, or any of the aromatic oils he preferred. Then again, he mused, the water, and the tub itself, were _clean_. He couldn’t help but be grateful for that much. He leaned back, sweeping his hair over the rim, content to soak the bruises and cuts he could away.

From the look (and feel) of it, he had been dragged through the tower the first time. All over the tower. And the courtyard outside. He ran a hand over his face, and frowned when it came away reddish-brown. Delightful. He wondered if the mirror in here would tell him more, and nearly called it over. The glint of light (greenish, rather than the soft blue he was used to) on the bracelet on it stopped him. He growled, lowly, dropping his arm back into the water.

The bitch had said Khadgar was hunting him. Well, that in and of itself was a small comfort. If he knew his former apprentice, now lover and life-partner, he wouldn’t give up. He never did.

He leaned back again, closing his eyes. There was still much to Khadgar that was an enigma to him. Any time he was not alone, he was cheerful, almost blithely so. Horrible jokes and puns delivered with a sly smile that everyone rolled their eyes at. A few went further and actually back-talked him. He just laughed it off, and though whatever champion or hero he had been speaking with usually left him grumbling or shaking their heads in bemusement, he would still smile.

And yet, once he returned to the tower, he found the man a myriad of emotion. The most prominent among them seemed to be fear and despair. No matter how Medivh tried, he would never believe he was fit for where he was. He felt he had failed. Not only in his apprenticeship, despite that he had taken many of Medivh’s most valuable books and no few of his journals and personal spellbooks, and gone on to continue his own education, but also in the trust Medivh had bestowed on him.

The first night he had returned, and he had run into the boy – man, they had stared at one another. There had been something in those blue eyes that Medivh hadn’t seen in so long that it _hurt_. It was at once a desire for approval, and a plea for forgiveness. The vulnerable look had cut him deeply, and he answered it in the only way he could that would not be taken amiss. He had pulled Khadgar into a tight hug, and told him in words that could not be misunderstood, just how _proud_ he was of what Khadgar had become.

They talked until dawn. And then past it. Bleeding out so many soul-deep wounds that had half-healed or become infected and swelled over the years, the decades. He discovered what had become of Khadgar when he returned, and assumed his apprentice long dead, more of what had happened when he had been traveling, not having seen when Khadgar returned to Azeroth, and when he had left once again for a Draenor of another timeway. The more he heard, the prouder he was, and the more certain Khadgar had been of his failures, right alongside his victories.

If there was one thing he regretted, it was that Khadgar did not see those victories – he saw only the failures. It was nothing like the confident, nearly arrogant young man he had once taught. There had been something missing. It wasn’t until several weeks later that it finally burst from whatever had been keeping it back, and Medivh found that it had been he himself who had put that doubt there when he had died.

Within the same hour, presumably unable to keep them back any more than he could his own doubts, came his feelings. Medivh had known Khadgar had loved him. It was no secret to anyone who saw them in the same room. But apparently there had been more to it. And he realized in that moment that there had been a reason he had immediately sought his apprentice once his task in Hyjal had been completed, and retreated into shadows and moved on when his apprentice was nowhere to be found, and presumed lost, or more likely, dead.

He had spent nights with more experienced lovers, but never one that he felt as though he wasn’t on display, performing for an expectant audience. He may have been slightly more confident when morning found them tangled in his bed, but the smile that was in Khadgar’s eyes when he realized he wasn’t being sent away was more than worth it.

He had worried, when Khadgar left for Argus. For the first time in decades, he prayed to anything that would listen, that he would come home safely. However, shortly before he returned home, Medivh feared it would be he who would not be there when he saw Sargeras’ visage in the skies. He feared being possessed again. And he prepared himself for it. But instead of possessing him, the Titan had manifested a blade, and drove into the sands of Silithus.

And Khadgar had returned, feeling that the victory was empty. Sargeras and the Legion were dealt with. But if Azeroth died, it wouldn’t matter. And so he returned, laden as he once had been with a rucksack and a nervous smile, stating that unless he was needed in Dalaran, he would remain in the tower. And they had set to work.

Medivh sat up, shook his head a little, and slid down to soak his hair, scowling. There was war on the horizon already. And now _this_. He scrubbed at his hair and scalp with almost brutal vigor, then ducked to rinse. And did it again. And a third time, before he finally felt it was clean. He nearly scrubbed his skin off, and only was satisfied when he could find no marks on him other than the red of where he had scrubbed.

He stood and squeezed his hair out, picking up the towel he had been left and scrubbed just as hard, nearly to the point of breaking his skin in places. The bracers, he noticed, gleamed all the brighter for having been soaked, and he sighed. At least they were clean, and did allow him to clean under them by obligingly shifting slightly on his wrists.

A robe had been left by the towel, and he leaned over and drained the tub, laying the towel over the rim and collecting the robe in the same movement. With a wrench, he realized it was one of his favorite robes. And one of Khadgar’s, to the point the younger mage often stole it and curled up to read with it on, particularly when he was upset.

Medivh closed his eyes, holding the robe to his chest. This wasn’t happening, he told himself. He would not let this break him. Not this. Not here. Not now. He made a choked sound, holding the robe to his face, muffling the sob he couldn’t keep back, drying the tears before they could become visible.

What was Khadgar doing now? Was he still trying to find him? Had he given up and called himself a failure? If he ever made it home, would Khadgar still even be there?

He pulled the robe on. And opened the door, his eyes hardened. He would not let this break him. Khadgar wouldn’t leave him to this. And by all the gods, he would be here, and he would be whole _when_ Khadgar found him. And then there would be Hell to pay.


	7. Chapter 7

“You say you found where, and when.”

“I think so.”

“But you were missing something.”

“Something had to be missing. It went wrong… but catastrophically enough that I had to be close.”

Moroes sighed. “Where?”

“Here. In the tower.” Khadgar shifted his weight, laying his head back against the rim of the font. “When, is while I would have been on Draenor, shortly after it was destroyed.”

“And your counterpart? His?”

Khadgar frowned. “I didn’t look.”

Moroes turned a page of Khadgar’s notes. “Perhaps that is what is missing?”

“It shouldn’t make much of a difference. Bad enough I’m prying into yet another timeway.”

“According to this, a timeway that is likely collapsed.”

Khadgar was quiet for a long moment. “Why though? I mean, obviously it isn’t … Wait. Moroes! That’s it!” He sat up, his eyes glowing slightly.

Moroes calmly reached out, laid a hand on Khadgar’s shoulder and pushed him back down, his eyes still on the notes. “Lay down. Keep calm.”

Khadgar blinked at the strength in that arm, but lay back again, quietly. “I wasn’t accounting for the collapse or that it might be in between collapse and an open timeway.”

Moroes chuckled. “And you claim to have tamed the hourglass that Karazhan is.”

Khadgar snorted, then closed his eyes, letting the font do its work. Impatience wanted him to draw from it, but he knew that could potentially be disastrous if he pulled too much or too quickly. Either could easily overload his senses and … he would rather not think about the consequences. He had come very near doing that more than once, without Karazhan or the concentration of the font.

He stretched one foot, then the other, letting his mind drift. It seemed that it wasn’t just raw power the font offered, but insight as well.

If where they had taken Medivh was not in a collapsed timeway, it was also possible for them to be in the space between one and another, in the same kind of Netherspace that had begun to take over Karazhan. But that made little sense. The demons could exist there, but how long would Medivh survive there? It couldn’t be long – unless they didn’t intend for him to be alive long.

He opened his eyes and sat up again. “I think I have the answers.”

Moroes looked up from Khadgar’s notes. “Go on.”

“I didn’t account for the collapsing timeway,” Khadgar said thoughtfully. “But what if they’re not _in_ a particular timeway? What if, because in this timeway, deaths occurred, Karazhan was never reclaimed, and the Nether… well. Consumed it?”

Moroes frowned, and got to his feet, offering Khadgar his hand. “In theory, you’d be able to cross that space from where you stand, and not necessarily from the point of origin.”

Khadgar sighed, taking Moroes’ hand to stand up. “Well. There goes that theory.”

“Not necessarily. You may be onto something. Here.” Moroes held out a page of the notes. “You have the space between, but you don’t necessarily have a reality to land in. At the same time, you have a reality to land in that leads to the space between. Time, Apprentice. Time.”

Khadgar stared at Moroes for several stunned heartbeats, then hugged him. “You’re a bloody genius.” He let go, blushing, swept Medivh’s robe from the lounge, and headed back out.

Moroes blinked a few times. “I wouldn’t say genius. Was _your_ notes.” He shrugged, but smiled all the same as he watched Khadgar go.

 

As Khadgar descended the stairs, his mind worked, frantically. If Time was the missing factor, then there was a broad spectrum of where to look and _how_ to look. If he did it wrong, he might be stuck in an empty tower for several years before he found what he needed to. Or he could miss altogether and…

He shook his head of that thought as he started down the stairs beneath the tower. His palms began to sweat with nerves as he reached the bottom, and he stared at the mark burned into the floor.

If nothing else, Moroes had been right. He did feel better having rested – and likely helped that he had insisted Khadgar dress _properly_ , reminding the mage that if he succeeded and found himself in hostile territory his lounging robe would be no good. His eyes turned the color of polished steel to match his battle-robes as he stepped directly onto the mark in a sudden burst of inspiration – one he trusted; they seldom led him wrong.

The sound of a throat clearing distracted him as he started to calm his mind, and when he turned, he found Moroes there, holding out Atiesh. “Just in case.” Their eyes met. Khadgar nodded, taking the staff. Moroes held out his satchel next. “Change of clothes for the Guardian. Not likely they’ll have him in something he can work with, if anything at all. Potions and medicines. Less work for me if you help him first.”

Khadgar knew better by now. He slung the bag across his shoulder and patted Moroes’ arm. “I’ll get him home. Or die trying.”

“Don’t do that. Tower gets lonely, you know.”

They shared another look. Moroes stepped back out to the staircase, and Khadgar adjusted his grip on Atiesh before frowning and harnessing it against his back. He wanted his hands free, just in case. The weight of it calmed him more than the breathing exercise he had been using until now. The weight of his robes seemed to help also. This was his element; grand plans and study were all well and good and had their place, but he was spontaneous, no matter how he pretended otherwise.

The last of what he had been trying to grasp for the past day suddenly came together. He knew _where._ He knew _when._ He knew _how._ And more, he knew at just what point in Time would take him to where he wanted to go in the end.

His eyes glowed blue as he gathered what he needed to him, forming the exact point in his mind. And flashed violet as he vanished.

 

At once, Khadgar knew his calculations had been off. He landed, painfully, on the floor of the room he had just left. The heat was nearly stifling after the chill he had left. And he could hear… noises. Shuffling from upstairs, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. There were demons nearby, and he knew what they were.

As quietly as he could, he hauled himself to his feet to regain his bearings. All right, he was in the right _place_ , but _when_ and _where_ was he?

“Well. This is unexpected.”

He turned around to find himself facing Medivh. A Medivh he knew well, and one he hoped he would never face again. Then again, this time he was no student. He was also not accompanied by Anduin Lothar or Garona.

“Shouldn’t you be upst- no.” Medivh took a step forward, looking over the man who had just appeared out of nowhere. “You seem to be misplaced, Young Trust. You’re older. And you seem to be carrying my staff. But your eyes…”

Khadgar didn’t speak, though shifted his weight into a defensive stance. If he had miscalculated, he could still be in his own timeway, but far too early, and he didn’t really want to disrupt things. It had been bad enough the first time through.

“Relax, boy. He isn’t here. Right now.” Medivh chuckled when Khadgar didn’t move a muscle. “What were you trying to do? No – no, don’t tell me. You’re already messing with things I know I’ve told you that not even I would. What could be so damned important that you would go messing with affairs best left to the Bronze flight?”

Khadgar sighed, though didn’t take his eyes off his former mentor. “How much can I tell you safely without it destroying this timeway?” he asked instead.

Medivh’s eyebrows shot up. “This timeway? I don’t…” He looked Khadgar over, the green eyes sharp. “How old are you now?”

Khadgar frowned. “I… My guess is forty-seven. I … lost track for a while.”

Medivh’s face slackened in shock. “Well. That’s… not what I expected. There isn’t much you could say to me that wouldn’t at least alter Time here. You’ve already done that. I suspect there isn’t much more damage you could possibly do. Just your being here is likely to cause where we are to collapse, unless of course, the Bronze flight steps in. But that would not have an effect the here and now, only what we might remember later.”

“You,” Khadgar sighed. “I’m searching for you. The … The Legion was defeated. Sargeras imprisoned. And some of them came back for you. I don’t know why they’ve taken you. I don’t know … no – I know _when_ you are. _Where_ you are. But I… apparently miscalculated.”

Medivh tilted his head slightly. “When and where…?”

Khadgar ran a hand over his face, finally relaxing some of his guard, but not all of it. “You’re in Karazhan. In a collapsing or collapsed timeway. Likely a Karazhan that has been taken by Netherspace.”

Medivh stared at him for a long moment. “My dear boy, that could be anywhere, and at any time.”

Khadgar nodded, slowly. “I… I know.”

“You realize you aren’t likely to find a way home.”

“I know that too.”

“Why?”

Khadgar bit his lip, dropping his eyes for a moment. “How insane would you think me if I said ‘because I don’t think you should be left in the hands of demons, particularly when you are my life-partner and I am not fond of the idea of losing you a second time’?”

Medivh stared at him, then shook his head. He crossed the space between them and tilted Khadgar’s head up, forcing him to meet his own eyes. Green searched blue for a long time, and finally, Medivh released him. “Not insane. A dreamer, but not insane. It’s obvious you are quite serious.” He chuckled, though the sound held no mirth. “So. You cannot go back. You must go forward. You found me here, but I am not who you are looking for. I cannot say whether this timeway is the one you want or not – or if you were aiming for the space between one and another…” He looked up at the sound of noise. “Either way, you will be here soon – the you of this time. I… I know what will happen when we meet. Take the chance that this is the failure, is my advice. Go forward.” He smiled, sadly. “Do not stay and watch the events – it would only cause you pain.”

Medivh stepped back. “You know the timeline better than I.” His eyes looked Khadgar over. “And you’ve clearly proven that I was right. You’ve become a better Guardian than I could have hoped to be, considering the circumstances. Now go – before we are found.”

Khadgar hesitated, then drew a slow breath, preparing to cast again. The last thing he saw before he vanished was Medivh’s eyes clouding, and an angry echo followed him as his spell carried him off. “You can’t win, child. Try all you want. You can’t. Win.”


	8. Chapter 8

Medivh toyed with the stew in front of him. He had no appetite. The Eredar woman was looming over him, making impatient clucking noises.

“You know, that’s rather distracting.” Medivh finally said, his frustration getting the better of him.

“I didn’t realize it took a human six years to eat a meal. Else I would have never let myself –” She cut herself off with a huff.

Medivh looked up at her. She looked back, her fel-green eyes glaring at him. “Do you have a name?” he asked softly.

She looked taken aback by the question. “Lilaanu,” she finally answered him, her head tilting slightly.

“Well, Lilaanu, instead of hovering over me and disrupting my… enjoyment… of this meal, you could sit with me and we could have a conversation like civilized people.” He lifted an eyebrow at her.

Lilaanu stared at him, gave him an incredulous look, then shrugged and moved around the table to take the chair opposite him. “Better?” she snapped.

“Much, actually.” Without the looming presence behind him, Medivh actually felt like eating. “So. Tell me. What exactly is my purpose here?”

“Your purpose? Eating.”

Medivh closed his eyes, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “No – no, I mean why have I been brought here – to whatever forsaken version of Karazhan this is?”

Lilaanu frowned at him. “I am only responsible for your well-being. Xaraz wants you alive, and apparently well treated for the time being. I know nothing of why.” She shrugged. “I assume because he wants to question you, and for some bizarre reason thinks treating you well will get him answers.”

Medivh swallowed, then laughed. “Well, that’s not going to get him far.”

“Your mate hunts you. Rather aggressively. He has failed at least twice, but he doesn’t know when to give up.” Lilaanu snorted. “Why him?”

The question startled Medivh, and he looked at her for a long moment, then ate in silence for another long moment. “Have you ever been in love, Lilaanu?”

“What good is love when there is magic and power and the blood of mortals?” She shrugged. “You mortals mate. We kill. It is the same.”

Medivh shook his head, smiling. “But it isn’t. Surely you remember the time before you… became what you are now? Perhaps had a mate of your own?”

The Eredar frowned, and lowered her eyes. “Long ago. It doesn’t matter. He left.”

“But it still upsets you,” Medivh pointed out.

Lilaanu did not answer, though her eyes did not rise. Medivh took the opportunity to finish his stew. He set the bowl aside, which got her attention. “Finished? Then come with me.” She stood, looking at him warily.

Medivh rose to his feet, and replaced his chair. With a mocking little inclination of his head and a gesture of his hand, he invited her to lead. She hesitated, but then led him back down into the observatory, where she stood behind him, arms crossed, and waited for the Inquisitor – Xaraz, if Medivh recalled correctly – to acknowledge them.

“Perhaps you are now in more of a mood to answer my questions,” he said, turning towards them. He eyed the mage critically. “How was it that you managed to defeat our Lord and Master so many years ago?”

“I died,” Medivh said shortly.

“You live now.”

“I was lucky.”

They glared at one another for a long time. “Fine. You were lucky. I am assuming you’re not willing to share the story?”

Medivh snorted, then moved to take the chair he had occupied earlier without invitation. “You know the story. You said as much when you mentioned that the ‘idiots from the shiny city killed her’ earlier.” His eyebrow raised slightly. “So I did not have a way to return in this collapsing timeway, and my apprentice clearly met his end on the ruined world of Draenor.”

Xaraz snarled. Medivh ignored him. “So what is it you want to know?” he asked again.

“How did he know to kill you?” the Inquisitor demanded.

“I don’t think he knew,” Medivh shrugged. “It was an accident of circumstance.” He looked up at the demon looming over him now, keeping his face impassive.

“Take him downstairs. Give him to the shivarra. We’ll see if they can loosen his tongue.” Xaraz turned his back on the mage and the Eredar.

Lilaanu jerked her head at Medivh, and he shrugged and stood. Once they had left the room, she hissed, “Why didn’t you just answer his question?”

“I did. He’s asking the wrong person. I was not myself at the time. How was I to answer something only his Lord and Master would know?” Medivh smirked at her.

She frowned at him, shook her head, and led him down the stairs. “You will be tortured,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“You don’t care?”

Medivh sighed, then paused, turning to face her. “Lilaanu, I do care. I care because I have been informed my mate hunts me. I will endure whatever it is that is thrown at me, because of him. You remember love – your actions said as much upstairs. Perhaps you remember a time when you would do anything for your mate, no matter the cost to you?”

She was silent for a heartbeat or two, then nodded, slowly. “He left. I … I bought him time.”

He reached up and brushed her arm, and surprisingly, she did not pull away from him. “I am buying him the time he needs.” And he turned to start down the stairs again, leaving her to catch up.

“But if you are killed here?” she protested, catching up and moving ahead of him.

“Then it is his wrath you face. And I would not advise it.”

“What is that to mean?” she snapped.

He paused again, and this time, he looked up at her. She recoiled a little at the look in his eyes. “Exactly what I said. My temper is legendary among many, as was my power once.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I fear he is less stable than I in many ways, Lilaanu. Should I die,” he sighed. “It may be that everything we know will cease to be.”

“He would destroy everything?” she asked, shocked now.

“Including himself.” He frowned, then looked up again, his eyes sad. “How long have you spent within Karazhan?” he gestured at the walls.

“Moons? Years? It is difficult to tell.”

“You’re Eredar. You surely can feel what flows here.”

“Power. Much of it.”

“Enough to destroy the tower?”

“Pft. Easily. Why?”

Medivh chuckled. “Where is the tower?”

Lilaanu stared at him, clearly having no understanding of what he was about. “On Azeroth?”

“It has been claimed by the Twisting Nether, Lilaanu. Think of that power let loose into the Nether.”

She frowned. “But that is the…” Her eyes widened. Medivh nodded at her, encouragingly. “It would cause a… No. It would create a …” She shook her head, violently. “No, that cannot be.”

Medivh smiled at her, reached up and patted her hand. “But it would. Timelines, timeways, alternate dimensions… all would collapse. All would cease. And there would be nothing. The Legion would fail its task. Would it not?”

She stared at him, clearly trying to fathom this idea. “You will live.” Her words were decisive. “We cannot fail.” She looked at him again. “He must die, then?”

“No,” he said sharply. “If he dies, then it is me you would fear. He doesn’t know, or hasn’t thought, or would not think of the consequences. You see, I have. And I do. And I _would._ ”


	9. Chapter 9

Khadgar knew his attempt had failed before he landed. For he did – after a short fall that sent him sprawling. The Medivh he had encountered had been wrong. This timeway was a collapsed one, as was evidenced by the fact that he had landed in the same chamber, but it was sealed.

Whenever he was now, either he, or Medivh, or whoever lived in Karazhan now had sealed off this chamber, and likely more. Or the tower had collapsed entirely. He was in a small, cramped space, and he found it difficult to breathe.

He didn’t waste time trying to find out where or when he was. He took measured breaths, and prepared to try again. When he did, he was already seeing spots before his eyes, and he could only pray that he got out of here and didn’t collapse in the process.

The spell failed, as though he had tried to Blink into a solid wall and had been stopped before it. He tried again, and encountered the same.

 _Don’t panic. Panicking will only deplete the air here, and it’ll kill me faster._ Another measured breath, and another attempt.

For a moment, he thought he was dead, considering the light that he landed in. It was almost as though he landed in a deeper version of the font, as he could feel the energies coalescing around him and giving him strength. He could breathe easily, and the air was shockingly clean.

There was a startled shout, and a moment later hands were tugging at his shoulders, and a voice that was familiar was calling to him. Familiar, but much… older. He responded to those hands and hauled himself to his knees, and with aid, to his feet.

“What in the name of Azeroth?!” he looked up, and found himself looking at himself, only a few years older. He had prayed to avoid this, particularly after he had encountered a different version of Medivh.

Then again, what else could he have expected when he was searching through timeways and timelines and keeping the location static? It wasn’t as though Karazhan was likely to have other tenants other than himself and Medivh, though he had thought he had kept himself confined to the lower reaches of the upside-down version of… Wait a moment. He had. Then what…?

“How is this even possible?” another familiar voice asked. “What are you… Why…” Medivh’s voice stopped and footsteps drew closer. “Let me look at him.”

A hand gripped his chin and lifted it so he was forced to meet familiar emerald eyes – though the pair he met was crystalline and clear, worried and curious. “You’re a long way from where you belong, Khadgar.”

Khadgar sighed and nodded. “I know. I know.”

“You also look as though you’ve tried to swim in mud.” His own voice muttered.

They were awfully calm about this. “Not quite – just … tried to teleport into the ground is all. Nothing out of the ordinary for me considering my recent luck. As soon as I catch my breath I’ll—”

“Coming out of there and getting cleaned up is what you’ll be doing. Come on.” He let his counterpart, and Medivh’s, lead him up a set of stairs.

“I thought I had landed beneath the tower, a place I assumed you would avoid,” he tried to explain.

“Not since we cleared it out and made it somewhat useful. The bedrock is far better at containing magical accidents, and the ley lines are far stronger down here anyway,” Medivh explained.

“Oh,” Khadgar replied, his head spinning. “Though, after what just happened, I… I’m afraid that I’m not…”

“Shush. Come on. Up the stairs. That’s it. Khadgar, have Moroes draw a bath, and let Llane, Varian and Anduin know that the disturbance is likely to … well. Tell them what was down here, hm?”

Khadgar’s heart nearly stopped. So he was in a timeway where they had lived…? He closed his eyes and let Medivh guide him as he heard his counterpart’s footsteps depart. He didn’t much want to deal with the emotions seeing them was likely to produce, and at the moment he felt ill as it was.

He heard voices as they neared the top of the stairs, and he dared to open his eyes. The wall panel was removed entirely, and the staircase led out into the hallway openly. He shut his eyes again, pausing.

“Are you all right?” Medivh asked him lowly.

“I think I’m going to be sick, actually.” Khadgar leaned against the wall, taking slow breaths.

“I want to ask so many questions… It is obvious you’ve had a bit of trauma and—” Medivh’s voice stopped abruptly as Khadgar slid down the wall a little.

His ‘vision’ began to go grey behind his eyes. He heard a vague shout, and felt a pair of arms lifting him, a concerned voice, and then… nothing.

 

Khadgar came awake again as he realized someone was removing his clothing. He lifted a hand to wave them off, but his hand was taken and held away. Something cold was pressed to his forehead and he hissed, but realized the nausea was vanishing rapidly. He chanced opening his eyes to find his own looking at him in concern. He was in a small room that smelled faintly of mountain silversage and something sweet. Peacebloom perhaps.

“What?” he croaked softly. His counterpart shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Don’t speak. Here, Moroes.” There was a rustle of fabric, and he heard the distinct sound of his mantel being moved. Medivh and his counterpart carefully lowered him into water that felt warm, but not hot. “I think his fever is worse, Med.”

“Backlash. It’s the only thing I can think of.”

“Should we call a healer?”

“No. This isn’t something they could do anything about.”

Khadgar blinked, slowly. Fever? Backlash? What? He closed his eyes again.

“Are you up to talking yet, Khadgar?” Medivh asked him softly.

“Perhaps? What’s going on?”

“That is what I wanted to ask of _you_ actually. It’s obvious you don’t belong here, and it’s also obvious that you’ve been overtaxing yourself. That isn’t a shock, in all honesty, but… why?”

Khadgar opened his eyes, blinked again, and the room finally came into focus. As he had seen before it was a small room, and not one he recognized. He was immersed in a tub of warm water that took up about a third of the room, the rest taken up by a padded table and a few chairs, one of which had been pulled next to the tub, where Medivh sat with him.

He sighed, and began to explain. The more he spoke, the more concerned Medivh seemed to get. “So you’re telling me that your iteration of me is in Legion hands, and you’re trying to figure out how to get to him?”

Khadgar nodded. Medivh frowned. Khadgar sighed again. “I have the where and the when. It’s .. trying to find the right moment I’m having trouble with. So far I’ve come here three times, and failed finding the right timeway.”

“That’s Bronze territory, Khadgar. Even a Guardian won’t—”

“Mess with Time. I know. But I can’t just leave him there.” He didn’t mean to sound as though he was pleading for understanding, and he cursed his current state for it.

“No,” Medivh said slowly. “You can’t. It would result in absolutely nothing good. For you. For him. For your timeway.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve contemplated other alternate worlds, you know. Loops in Time. Other outcomes.” He nodded his head towards the door. “Your reaction to hearing the names of my guests disturbed you. Why?”

“None of them are alive today, for me.” Khadgar sighed, shaking his head. “Garona assassinated Llane right before the Horde razed Stormwind. Lothar was killed by Ogrim Doomhammer during the Second War, near Blackrock. Varian…” He closed his eyes. “Varian was killed by the Legion.”

He heard Medivh shift in his chair, though the older mage said nothing for a long time. “And you mentioned you killed me yourself.” Khadgar nodded without opening his eyes. “Yours has been a painful existence, then. I am sorry.”

“It is what it is. As you … as your spirit, or echo or … whatever it was that I saw the morning I buried you – a vision from the future – had told me, we are each given a part to play. In some cases those parts were written millennia ago, and all we can do is play the part. And pay the price.”

Medivh was silent for a long time. Khadgar looked up at him, and saw that the older mage had a hand across his eyes. “That sounds like something I would say, considering the circumstances…” He lowered his hand and dragged the back of it across one eye. “To answer your questions – you were casting too much, too heavily, too quickly. My guess is that your last attempt that landed you in a small space and cut off your air supply was what did the damage. In good conscience I cannot let you leave my care until you are fit again.”

Khadgar sat up, wincing as he sloshed water nearly over the rim of the tub. “But –”

“I know – the more time you take looking, the worse off he may be. But think for a moment. When you find him, and collapse half-dead, how will that help him? If he is like me, the guilt that you have run yourself so ragged will eat at him. And then, both of you will be in a similar predicament. He would not thank you for dying just as you reach him.” Medivh smiled, reached out and gently pushed Khadgar until he gave in and lay back again. “Now. You stay there for a little longer. Wash. I… would usually send… well. You. To get you back in order, but I will, since I doubt having you, even an older you, look after you is less than disconcerting, and a little alarming.”

Khadgar blushed. “A… bit.”

“Then I will come for you. A bit of rest. Food. Good company that … well. Hopefully will not hurt you?” Medivh lifted an eyebrow.

“If you tell them that I may stare and want to hug them…” Khadgar blushed again. “I… It has been many years since I lost Llane and Lothar – my last and only ties to you. Losing Varian is a more recent wound and… it is still raw, and all of them were… young yet, no older than I am now.”

“I understand. And I will see that they do. Perhaps it will raise your spirits to see them again.” Medivh stood and ran his hand through Khadgar’s hair in a gesture of affection. “I will return for you in a little, then.” He was gone before Khadgar could reply.


	10. Chapter 10

“Stop! Enough!” Lilaanu’s voice was sharp and commanding.

The Shivarra turned to look at her with a contemptuous look, but did not speak. The sound of harsh breathing echoed through the chamber – which had once been an ornate bath, then the unfortunate lecture hall of the Maiden of Virtue, and now served as a torture chamber. The breathing had a wet sound to it, and was punctuated by a soft, slow dripping sound.

Medivh opened his functional eye as far as the swelling would allow, though it would not focus properly. He closed it again, concentrating on drawing air into his lungs.

“You interfere?”

“If you kill him, he can answer nothing,” Lilaanu pointed out. “Now move away.”

There was a snort, and slow footsteps moving away.

“Magus? Magus look at me.” Medivh did not move, apart from the slow, ragged breaths. “Damn it.”

He had been suspended by his arms over what had once been one of the shallower pools – which was now where the slow dripping sound came from as the pool now contained a substantial amount of blood, being added to every few heartbeats.

Lilaanu wasn’t sure what to do. The robe Medivh had worn was … gone. She couldn’t tell if it was discarded or if it had been shredded to the point of disintegration. The lines across the mage’s skin from whip and blade alike were far deeper than she liked, particularly around his midsection. Nothing had spilled out, other than blood, but still, it was worrying. His face was swollen, his left eye had been slashed, and she wondered if it was destroyed or just swollen shut permanently at this point. The other, she had seen, was still functional, but…

Oh his mate would not like this. The rattling quality to his breathing spoke of either fluid in his lungs or… worse.

She suspected broken bones as well, considering the way he leaned, as though to keep weight off one leg. Not much of his flesh was visible through streaks of blood, his hair was a tangled mess. How was she going to not only get him free without hurting him further – and get him cleaned up so that he could recover? She could not let him die.

She didn’t want to die.

With a sigh, she reached up and undid the cuffs that suspended him, wincing as the spikes in them came free. She wrapped her hands around his wrists, quickly. He grunted in pain, then made a noise that sounded like a strangled whine as weight was put on the leg that was clearly broken.

Lilaanu shook her head, then scooped him up. He cried out, but she ignored it. “Sleep. Sleep, so you don’t injure yourself further,” she murmured, using what magic she could to gently send him into an unconscious state.

Medivh felt what she was trying to do, and tried to squirm away from her, his eye opening and looking at her with panic and fear.

She was already moving. She was no healer. She had been a mage once. There were no menders within the tower, and gods forbid she request one.

First and foremost she had to stop him from bleeding. To do that she’d have to clean him up a bit. Then the leg. And the eye. And… this was not going to be an easy task.

“Hush, Magus. I… I’ll find a … You won’t…” The Eredar was at a loss for words. She had not reassured someone since… She shook her head. “Rest. Please rest. Don’t make them worse. He’s still looking…”

Medivh closed his eye again, clinging to that thought. She was right. Khadgar was still out there. He sighed, wincing as it made his chest hurt. He took her advice, however, and tried to relax. The moment he did, he fell unconscious.

 

Medivh woke what felt like moments later, and in considerably less pain. He was no less weak, however. He opened his good eye, hissed, then closed it again.

“You are awake.”

Medivh opened his mouth, but found he could not speak. His eye opened wider, and Lilaanu turned away from the fear there.

“I… I think it is only temporary. Here – I have something that may help your recovery.” She offered him a mug, but on seeing he had trouble lifting his hands, patted them back down. “Don’t – I will help.”

She put the mug down and guided him to sit up, propping him up with cushions. “I am sorry I let it go so far. I was only gone for a little while. I did not know …” She shook her head, and helped him drink a little of the mug’s contents. “I would ask how you feel, but I think it is obvious.”

Medivh followed her with his eye as she set the mug back down. His throat felt raw, but better after whatever she had given him. It was a few moments before he tried to speak again, and the rasp that emerged sounded nothing like him at all. “Helped. A little.”

Lilaanu took that as an encouragement, and offered more, which he gratefully accepted. “Leg? Eye?”

“Your leg is… was broken. It will be long in healing. I… I could do nothing for your eye. I am sorry. The … the blood loss was most substantial. I don’t know what she was thinking.” She lifted a hand and lifted his chin slightly. “Your throat is healing decently – but…” She sighed. “How you are to answer questions…”

Medivh huffed softly, in what might have been a chuckle. “Not me.”

“What do you mean? Not you?”

“Questions. Khadgar. Not me.”

Lilaanu frowned at him. It was possible, now that he had answered the way he had. It was obvious his mate still searched but usually if Xaraz was done with someone… She looked away. They were disposed of. But if this one was disposed of… their mission would fail. The Void would claim all, for there would be nothing more… to claim.

She sighed, and helped him to finish the mug’s contents. “Rest now.”

Medivh nodded, slowly, and watched her leave the room.

Rest. The word could mean so much. He looked around a little, realizing that he had been brought to what had been his bedroom, when Khadgar studied with him, after he had lost part of the tower already, and hidden that fact.

He sighed, settling into the cushion behind him, and closed his eye, ignoring the tear that spilled from it. Perhaps there was still hope. If Khadgar could only find him before he didn’t have the strength to keep drawing air into his damaged lungs, to keep the heart stuttering, beat after beat.

Time.

Something he had once warned Khadgar never to toy with – and yet he did. Funny, how he seemed to be less aware of it here now that the tick of a clock or the sands of an hourglass didn’t count moment to moment. There was only the beat of his heart, the cadence of his breath.

Each one was more difficult than the last. Slower. Ever slower.

Soon, they would cease altogether, when he lost the will to fight.

If only Khadgar could find him… before…

The last.


	11. Chapter 11

The cry was loud enough to reverberate through the entire tower. Every occupant woke to it. Some huddled where they were. Others sat up, wonderingly.

Two were on their feet and moving toward the source before it had stopped. The older of the two waved the younger back before moving to open the door to the room where they had their misplaced visitor installed. The light under the door was ominous enough, and Medivh didn’t think that their visitor would do any harm on purpose – but the pain and utter loss in the cry told him that something, somewhere, had snapped.

It was very likely he was about to step into a storm, and one he was not looking forward to making an attempt to calm. Steeling himself, he closed his eyes and reached out to rest his hand on the door handle.

The light under the door abruptly went dark.

Medivh looked back at Khadgar, who shrugged, his eyes concerned. Taking another steadying breath, he opened the door.

The younger, misplaced version of Khadgar was sitting up in bed, his eyes open but oddly… blank. The only thing that showed there was any sign of life was the eerie glow that still lingered in them. The furniture did not seem to have moved, but glowed ominously, but faintly, blue.

Medivh carefully moved into the room, pausing beside the bed, and cautiously reaching out a hand to touch the younger mage’s shoulder. The younger mage did not move. Nor did he acknowledge that he recognized touch or the presence of either mage.

Khadgar’s older counterpart leaned in the doorway, watching, frowning. Something was very wrong. He was no priest, but he did have enough of an empathic sense to use sympathy on living beings as well as inanimate objects, and he cautiously did so now, just in case there was something that might injure his own partner.

As abruptly as the cry had echoed through the tower, so too did a despair that was so incredibly thick, it struck him as hard as a physical blow. He winced, leaning heavily against the doorframe, watching Medivh recoil.

The sound the younger Khadgar made was almost inhuman, and it spoke of something neither mage could put a name to – something so black it threatened to swallow them both.

“Khadgar?” Medivh murmured softly, reaching out again.

As suddenly as the feeling had struck, it vanished. The misplaced mage blinked, then looked at Medivh. There was a sense of recognition in his eyes, but it was just enough to prove he still lived. His words were whispered, and Medivh leaned in closer to hear them.

“He’s dying. He’s _dying_ and I can’t find him.” The pain that accompanied these words caused Medivh to drop abruptly into the chair beside the bed.

The older version, however, could not hear the words, but certainly felt more than just the pain. Guilt, black and thicker than tar, and a sense of failure that spoke of ‘another’ failure. After a moment of deliberation, he stepped into the room, and looked directly at his younger self, catching and holding his eyes.

Slowly, he extended his hand, the desire to understand his younger version overpowering any other thought. Silently, they seemed to communicate, as Medivh watched. The younger nodded, extending his own. The older took a chair on the other side of the bed, their clasped hands resting on the edge of the bed.

None of them moved for several long moments, other than Medivh’s concerned eyes darting from one to the other.

The older Khadgar bowed his head, then nodded, slowly. He rose to his feet, freed his hand, and offered a caress to the younger’s cheek.

“Med, if you need me I’ll be in the library.” Without any other explanation, he left the room.

Bewildered, Medivh looked at the bed’s occupant, who now sat with one hand laying open on the edge of the bed where his older self had held it, eyes closed, and weeping in silence and utter stillness. Whatever had transpired between the two seemed to be something deeply personal, and not something he had heard or seen. He shifted uncomfortably.

“One who does not experience loss, does not understand loss,” Khadgar murmured softly, apparently in response to Medivh’s shift. The older mage looked up, his head tilting in a heart-breakingly familiar way. “He never lost you, as I had,” Khadgar went on. “He needed to understand.”

Medivh’s mouth twitched into a sad smile. “That does sound like him. Do you know what he ran off for?”

“He only said I needed more time.” It was something that echoed his last conversation with Moroes. He sighed, his hands finally moving, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes.

“Before his dying.”

“Yes.”

Medivh was quiet for a long moment. “You toy with unraveling the universe, you know.”

“I know,” Khadgar murmured. “And I fear it. But I cannot—”

“Leave him, I know.” Medivh sighed heavily. “You’re not so different, after all.” He chuckled, and the sound was warm. “Though, from what I have seen – felt – of you, if anyone can accomplish the Impossible, it is you.”

Khadgar lowered his hands, meeting Medivh’s eyes. “What?”

“Perhaps your coming here was what your heart or mind, or whatever subconscious things that go on within us, was what you needed to do. Only you know yourself as well as you know yourself. And after … whatever you two spoke of, he seemed to know what you needed. Not only that, he seemed to know where to find it.” Medivh shrugged. “I’m sure I have said it to you many times – in many other timeways or universes that exist – but you need to trust in yourself. Your name is not a coincidence, I think, Young Trust.”

Before Khadgar could answer, his older self returned with several books in his arms. “I think I’ve found your answer. Here.” He handed the books to the younger mage, who looked down at them. He recognized the volumes, and his mind drifted back decades to when he had shelved them in the upper reaches of the balcony shelving, knowing them to be dangerous and likely suicidal to any who read them. These copies did not seem to be trapped as the ones he knew, and the chain was missing from one of them.

He looked up at his other self, who smiled. “You didn’t dare touch them. But I _did_.”

Medivh looked at the two and couldn’t help the smile. He had a feeling that he should envy his other self, the one their visitor searched for, even if he lay dying at this moment, somewhere distant. His life-mate was one of a kind. No matter how many timeways, universes, or whatever they might be called existed.

And he knew the younger mage _would_ succeed. The only question was, could he succeed in time?


	12. Chapter 12

The pain was unspeakable, and he was unable to give it voice. He wanted to scream, to fling whatever it was that was causing him pain away. It felt as though he were engulfed in flames, hotter than even he could summon at the height of his power. And it felt familiar and he knew those flames.

He begged for them to consume him whole. He screamed to whatever might listen to let him _go_ , to put an end to it.

But it would not end.

Nor would the endless questions. Questions he could no longer answer.

His eyes opened, and he glared. His rebellion earned him a lash that whipped metal across his left eye. He could feel its collapse, and the pain redoubled.

_Let me go. Let it stop. Just end me._

But it did not end. It did not stop. It continued. Leather whipped into his other eye, and he winced it shut, which only caused more pain.

He was bleeding – bleeding out, from the feel of it. And every time a question was asked, and he could not work an answer past his swollen throat, there was another slash to bleed more from.

Much more, and he would die.

Much more and the pain would cease.

He called to the Light. To the Wild Gods. To the Loa. To the Void. Anything he thought that might listen to his plea and bring an end to the pain.

_Hold on…_

Hold on? Why? Nothing could be worth this.

_Please hold on…_

But what was there to hold on for?

_I can find you. Hold. On._

Another lash across his chest, another arch, another hurt he could not cry out his pain of.

This was wrong. Lilaanu had tended his wounds. He remembered breathing. He remembered the slow rattling breaths as the slowed. Ceased. His heart aching as it beat its last. He remembered thinking _he_ was looking. He remembered.

Khadgar.

The name was like a talisman, as it brought with it memories of days of researching. Days where a young man of nearly-eighteen sat at his bedside. Days of instruction. A day he died. A day he was reborn. Searches. Fruitless searches.

Another question, sharper. He ignored it. A blade bit into his midsection, deep enough he thought it was over; that he would be disemboweled then and there.

A moment. A moment in the tower. Upstairs. Brilliant cerulean eyes wide with shock – and so much more.

Pain lanced down his back. And again. And again.

An embrace. A promise for answers. Wine and a very long talk. Emotions that had been kept within bursting like an infection. Unspeakable emotions. Pleasure immeasurable.

_Yes. Hold on…_

His eye opened, and he glared at the Shivarra again. She kicked out at him, and he heard a wet crack, like the sound of a tree branch being twisted apart as her foot connected with his thigh. He remembered this. He remembered that the first time, he could give voice to the pain, and he prepared to be unable to do so.

But there was no pain. _There was no pain_. All of it was receding now, as though someone had just fed him a powerful narcotic. Instinctively, he leaned on his good leg, knowing that he would fall if he did not. And he continued to glare steadily.

This clearly did not please the demon. She lashed out at him, and to protect his ‘good’ eye, he turned his head, ducking it. She screamed in rage as the gash along his face bled, but he did not even attempt to cry out. A lash to his chest, and he felt one of the barbs on the whip catch and tear his skin, but he did not feel pain.

His face lifted again, just enough to let his eye slide to glare at her again, daring her to do worse. Now that he could feel no pain, he had a feeling it would incense her.

And it did. He felt the blade she carried dig into his ruined leg, tearing a hole and exposing his shattered bone. He felt the whip come down across his chest again. He saw her smirk with cruelty as she drove a blade between his legs, and knew that a wound there was as prone to bleeding as a head wound. He could feel weakness where blood loss began to blur his vision…

_NO!_

His eye closed. And he smiled slightly. What did it matter if his lover tore apart the universe? He would have liked to watch it, in all honesty. He was curious as to what its effect would be. Would all go light? Or dark? Or would it turn the color of magic itself, as the Arcane tore through its own source?

_Medivh! Hold on!_

Hold on? To what? His arms were pinned above him. He hadn’t enough hands to hold back the flood of life pouring from him from so many wounds… He could not sear them closed. He could not freeze the blood in place. His heart continued to beat, and with every beat, more flooded from him.

And then there _was_ pain. Not a physical pain, but an emotional pain. He was going to die. Again. _Again?_ His heart had a finite number that it ticked down. His breath already rattled in his chest, and his throat was locked. What did it matter? He knew Death when it came for him. He could already feel its cold hand touching his cheek; a tender caress as cold as ice, promising him peace and a place where nothing could ever hurt him again.

He wanted to open his eyes and look at the figure touching him with such care. He wanted to see what Death looked like.

A babble of frantic voices confused him. There was a flash of bright light – and the thrill along his nerves of the Arcane invoked nearby.

He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to see what was happening.

“Medivh? Medivh!”

It couldn’t be. It _couldn’t_ be! Khadgar’s voice was so familiar, so dear to him that he thought he heard it calling his name. But that was not possible.

He was being moved. He felt his arms fall. He felt his weight fall onto his shattered leg, and he moaned at the sudden ache.

Ache?

“We must get him down – and out of here. You have to get him out before he discovers what you’ve done!”

Lilaanu?

“Medivh? Light above, look at me, give me some sign you’re in there, please…”

The pain in the voice managed to get through to him. He felt the hand against his cheek again, a caress against his swollen, ruined eye. He winced away from it. That had hurt.

Hurt?

Pain began to register again. Every little hurt he had sustained – bruises, small cuts. And then the larger slashes against his skin, the whip’s barbs parting his flesh easily as a hot knife through soft butter. The slash across his gut. The tear in his leg. It all began to register.

His eye opened, unseeing. Shocked.

And then he was screaming.


	13. Chapter 13

Khadgar adjusted his satchel against his hip, its weight reassuring, considering what he carried within. His eyes lifted to find his own, older eyes smiling at him. They shifted to find emerald ones doing the same.

“You’ll reach him this time. I know it.” The older Khadgar sounded every bit as confident as the younger didn’t feel.

“Remember what you’ve learned here, Young Trust. Trust in yourself, your instinct and abilities. Find him. I know you can do it. _We_ know you can do it.” Medivh said softly. And then he reached out and pulled him into a tight hug.

Hesitantly, Khadgar returned it. “I will do my best,” he temporized.

His older self stepped forward and added his own embrace. “Your best is all anyone can ask. And your best is more than you think. Let your heart guide you. Med’s right. Trust in yourself.”

Khadgar adjusted an arm to include his older self. “I can’t begin to thank either of you…”

They stepped back, sharing a look. “Thank us by finding him and getting him back home, safely,” Medivh said.

Khadgar nodded, then took the steps to take him to where he had landed here, in the blue-white energies of the pool. He reached behind him to check that Atiesh was secure. Ran a hand down his body to be sure he’d not forgotten anything. And then nodded, once, to his hosts.

He took a steadying breath, and then began casting. He knew where he was looking now. And he visualized the space and time, hours before, when Medivh still lived – and a moment where it would be safe to appear where he needed to be, and when. He only prayed it was early enough.

He knew he’d gotten it right, but in such a way that chilled his blood.

It was his nightmare, all over again. Medivh was here all right, but he was also in horrible shape. Somewhere above him.

Before he could take two steps, a voice stopped him.

“Wait! You – the Magus’ mate. Khadgar?”

Khadgar’s neck cracked as he whipped toward the voice, one hand raised and calling a spell.

“No! Wait!” Khadgar stopped incanting, but did not lower his hand. “I will take you to him. You must get him away from here – and then get away yourself.”

Khadgar’s jaw dropped, as the Eredar woman stepped forward. “Who are you?”

“My name is Lilaanu. I have been his… caretaker. He is bait. For you. If Inquisitor Xaraz finds you here, he will kill Medivh. It is you he wants.”

“Medivh is dying _now._ ” Khadgar hissed, his hand lowering slightly.

“There has not been an order to kill,” Lilaanu said bluntly.

“I dreamed – felt it. I had to come here at an earlier time…”

Lilaanu looked at him, taking a moment to search his eyes. “You know what will happen before it happens?”

“He’s bleeding out,” Khadgar insisted. “I felt him die.”

Lilaanu frowned. “But the order to kill…” She shook her head. “Come then. We must get to him, and quickly.”

She led him up through the familiar tower, along familiar corridors that were cold and barely lit, and _felt_ wrong. Khadgar realized that while this was indeed Karazhan, it had changed, and he vowed to never allow the tower to become like… like this. He would sooner dismantle it, stone by stone.

Lilaanu did not speak, and kept him to the shadows while she moved freely, walking with authority along what Khadgar recognized as the guest wing, and along to a place where Medivh had told him had once been an ornate bath; the communal type with mineral pools, meant more for socialization. He knew that now, the Maiden of Virtue had taken it over, considering he had asked her about Medivh’s whereabouts … was it just days ago?

The sound of a whip striking skin echoed along the corridor, and Lilaanu cried out in horror when they reached the room, and she had Khadgar hide himself. “Stop! Enough!”

As Lilaanu and the Shivarra spoke in harsh tones in what Khadgar recognized as a demonic language, he looked around. The room was now a torture chamber. There was no other way to describe it, or the various devices that it housed. His eyes found Medivh behind the Shivarra, and only sheer force of will kept him where he was.

Medivh was suspended by his arms, and he hung limply, his head bowed, his hair obscuring his face. It could not hide the various wounds, or the leg that was clearly broken that he seemed to be avoiding resting his weight on. Blood dripped steadily from him, falling into the pool below it, and Khadgar felt as though he would be sick on seeing that the pool contained more blood than was safe for Medivh to have lost. He wanted to tell himself it wasn’t all Medivh’s – but demons did not bleed the same bright red as a human.

The Shivarra snorted, then moved, holding her head up haughtily as she strode past him – and paused. She looked at him, or at least looked where he was, for a long moment before moving off down the corridor.

Once she was gone, he sprinted towards where Lilaanu was now removing the bindings holding Medivh up. He stopped short when he caught sight of the man – or rather, what was left of him. “Medivh!” he cried, his heart nearly stopping when there was no response. “Medivh?”

“We must get him down – and out of here. You have to get him out before he discovers what you’ve done!” Lilaanu hissed at Khadgar.

Khadgar nodded once to show he understood, and Medivh moaned weakly at being moved, at the weight on his broken leg. As he fell, Khadgar reached out and carefully cradled him, ignoring the pool of blood beneath him. “Medivh? Light above, look at me, give me some sign you’re in there, please…”

The eye opened. Shifted enough to look at Khadgar. Then closed again.

Khadgar reached up, his fingers brushing over the bruises around his other eye, his face twisting into an expression of pain and anger. His eyes darkened further when Medivh whimpered softly at the touch and actually winced away.

He could not take Medivh the way he was now. The teleportation would probably tear his body to shreds. He looked up at Lilaanu, wondering how much he could trust her. “He is too wounded for me to get out of here safely.”

“Give him to me. Do you know where his room was?” Khadgar nodded. “Go there. Quickly. Quietly. Do not be seen!”

Reluctantly, Khadgar passed Medivh to her, and was startled as she cradled him against her like a child. She walked out of the room quickly, but his sudden scream echoed along the corridor – and did not stop, even as he heard the Eredar’s steps quicken into a run.

He longed to run after them, but knew it would do no good, especially if he was caught. With every bit of will he possessed, he took to the shadows again, cloaked himself with an invisibility spell, and began to make his way toward the stairs as the echo of Medivh’s scream faded away.

He could hear noises as he moved, and his eyes darted from shadow to shadow. What else was here in this mockery of their home? He heard the giggle of an imp coming from one of the guest chambers. The distinct laugh of a succubus.

A low growl caused him to return his eyes to his path, and to his horror found himself looking at a felhound, its tentacle-like feelers aimed directly at him. It could sense him because of his power, he was sure of it. Khadgar held himself as still as he could, hoping the thing would leave him be.

He felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck as the thing continued to ‘stare’ directly at him. He did not want to attempt to kill it – surely it would raise an alarm, and then all he had done to get here would be for nothing.

Biting his lip, and feeling absurd for the very notion of what he was doing, he created a small ball of energy. “Let’s hope you like playing fetch,” he muttered under his breath, hurling the ball down the corridor in the direction he had come from.

The demon actually perked its feelers up, then took off after it.

Khadgar bolted from his hiding place, praying his spell would hold as he reached the stairs. It was quiet enough that he let the spell fade and took a moment to catch his breath. His mouth dry, his heart in his throat, he extended every sense to its limits as he slowly began to ascend the stairs.

He could feel the presence of other demons as he moved, though none seemed to be interested in him. It was with profound relief that he found himself outside the door to Medivh’s chambers and slipped inside without a single incident.

Lilaanu was tending Medivh’s wounds. The bedding was soaked in blood beneath him, and it tore at Khadgar’s heart. Thankful for Moroes’ insistence and the advice of others he had met along his journey here, he closed the door behind him, softly.

“I am no healer,” Lilaanu said quietly. “I… do not know—“

“It’s all right,” Khadgar replied, still wary of the woman, but sensing that her concern was genuine. He reached into the satchel at his hip. “I came prepared.”

He withdrew several vials from his bag, and looked over what Lilaanu had done. From what he could see, none of the wounds were yet infected, and the largest issue was blood loss. Well, he had something for that, at least.

“Here. Help me prop him up,” he murmured, setting the vials down on the table beside the bed. Lilaanu, he noticed, was gentle with him, and he was very surprised when she gently brushed hair from Medivh’s face once he was half-sitting up, propped on cushions.

Khadgar picked up one of the vials, pulled the stopper from it, and carefully poured a measure into Medivh’s mouth. The older mage swallowed, then whined softly – clearly the action had pained him. With a sigh, he set down the vial, and picked up a second one, unstoppered it, and poured that into Medivh’s mouth. Another swallow, another soft whine.

“What are you giving him?”

“The first one will help him replenish blood at a faster rate. This one is a pain suppressant.” Khadgar carefully fed Medivh the rest of the pain potion, then put the stopper back into the vial, and put the vial back into his bag, then waited. “Hopefully it will dull the pain enough that I can get the rest of the restoratives into him.”

Lilaanu frowned, but nodded. “Can I help?”

Khadgar looked up at her and got a good look at her for the first time. If he did not know better from her dark skin and fel-green eyes, he would have said she was a draenei. He wondered just what it was that had caused her to become either fond of Medivh, or to question her decisions to accept her fate. “He will need water,” he said softly. “He will also need bathing – I brought a change of clothing for him, but…” he gestured at the bloody bedding and the blood across Medivh’s skin.

Lilaanu nodded. “I can do that,” she said. “Can he be moved, or should I bring a basin?”

Khadgar picked up the first vial again. “I don’t think he can be moved yet, so a basin, please.” He heard her footsteps as she walked away, and turned his concentration back to Medivh. “I’m so sorry I could not get here sooner,” he murmured.

Medivh’s eye opened, and Khadgar noticed it was bloodshot. Medivh shook his head very slightly. “Here now,” he rasped, then winced; his throat still bothered him.

“I’ll get you home as soon as I can,” Khadgar promised, urging his partner to drink the rest of the vial.

Medivh was more cooperative with the rest of the potions, though he clearly thought their taste was something he could do without. Khadgar was more concerned with the eye that was swollen closed, and frowned at it. He knew better than to try to pry it open – leaving that for a healer to do. The sight of some of Medivh’s wounds already made him ill.

Once the potions were inside Medivh, however, Khadgar took up the task of cleaning and bandaging wounds. Some of them were superficial, others… were not. His gut-wound for instance, which had finally stopped bleeding, the wound in his leg that showed the broken bone beneath, and the wound to his groin, which Khadgar noticed could have ruined the man, but had been just short of doing so. At least the wounds, weakness and pain would keep Medivh from wanting to exert himself in any kind of intimacy for a while.

Lilaanu returned, looking grim, with a basin, fresh washcloths and more bandages. “He is displeased with the Shivarra. I think it is the only thing keeping his attention from your presence here. He knows you are here.”

She set the basin down on the table beside the bed. “You cannot linger.”

“I would not have – if he were in any state to be moved,” Khadgar sighed. “If I must, I will meet with this Inquisitor, and express my displeasure at the way Medivh has been treated.” His words were calm, but there was a deadly venom in them that actually made Lilaanu take a step away from him. The azure glow in the mage’s eyes didn’t help. “For now – why did you decide to help me?”

Lilaanu looked at him, then at Medivh. “Love,” she replied, simply.


	14. Chapter 14

“Love?” Khadgar asked, shocked. Had this woman gone and fallen in love with –

“He reminded me what it was to love,” Lilaanu said quietly.

Medivh snorted softly, his eye open again. “Only of your past,” he whispered.

“It was enough,” she retorted, looking up at Khadgar again. “I did not ask for this. I bought time for my loved ones to escape.”

“What will become of you, then, when we are gone?” Khadgar asked, tugging a bandage tighter around Medivh’s leg and wincing at the swelling. Medivh needed a real healer, and not what little he could do. Once the leg had been bound, he reached for a cloth and dipped it into the basin.

“Does it matter in the end? Even here, we know that Argus is no more. The Legion is broken. I happened to be in the service of one who thinks that by getting rid of you two, what happened will… unhappen.” Lilaanu took a chair, settled in it and sighed. “As though the great Pantheon and the Hunter will no longer exist, and the Master will simply take you over, even if you are … you see where the logic of this leads.”

Khadgar shook his head, gently dabbing at Medivh’s face. “Nowhere.” Even for a demon, the idea was one born of madness. He went quiet, gently cleaning Medivh’s skin, and trying to ignore that the basin went from clear, to pink, to red as he worked.

Lilaanu watched him work, taking in the care the younger mage took. She didn’t miss how gentle he was, even on spots that had dried. She hadn’t been entirely sure about their pairing, even when Xaraz had been insistent that it would bring the younger mage here to save the older. She remembered, a moment long in her past when she had managed to get her mate to safety, and offered herself in exchange, insisting she was a mage, she could do things he could not. They had taken her offer at face value, ignored him, and turned her. But he was _safe_ and that was all that mattered to her at the time.

She recognized the care in the younger mage’s careful ministrations. The tenderness in his every touch. And yet, she knew that he could fight like hell incarnate, she had seen it. And he was worried right now, and not necessarily angry. She knew the rumors of his temper. She knew that Medivh had been right to fear his death – not for his own sake, but for fear of what this younger one would do. She had been a mage. She could feel just what he was.

Khadgar put the cloth down. “Can you help me lift him?” he asked softly. Lilaanu was on her hooves again, her hands just as gentle as they moved Medivh so Khadgar could clean his back. Once that was done, he sighed. “He needs a healer,” he said softly. “But he is still too unstable to return home.”

Medivh looked up at Khadgar, briefly, before his eye closed again. It was obvious the man was still in a considerable amount of pain. “Risk it.”

Khadgar shook his head. “You aren’t stable enough, Medivh. I have not come this far only to lose you.”

A hand reached up to grip Khadgar’s arm. “Risk. It.” Medivh’s eye was open again, and there was a steel in them that Khadgar knew well – and a plea in them that he didn’t like.

The look was clear as words. ‘Get me out of here. Get _us_ out of here. Before something worse happens.’ And the unspoken undertone of ‘I would rather die in flight than be taken by the Legion again’ was so unlike Medivh that it pulled at Khadgar’s heart and made it ache.

Khadgar rested his hand over Medivh’s, and dropped his eyes. He was torn. He couldn’t bear to hurt Medivh further, but every minute here was another that Xaraz could walk through the door and take them both before he even had a chance to fight. He had to make a choice.

He closed his eyes, and gently twined his fingers into Medivh’s. “Med,” he said softly, “If I lose you… after all this…”

“I know.” The words were firm, stronger than Khadgar had expected, spoken with conviction. Conviction of what, exactly?

Before Khadgar could do more than wonder, the door opened, and he found himself instinctually moving into a position to guard the injured mage and the Eredar still tending him. He had a feeling he was about to meet the Inquisitor at last.

The room was not exactly a space he would choose for such a confrontation, considering just how much could go wrong and bounce off the –

The wards were gone. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. As he thought about it, Khadgar pulled Atiesh from its harness on his back, his other hand curling around the shaft, the staff held in front of him in a guard position. Anduin Lothar had seen to it that Khadgar was no slouch in physical combat, and though he had not resorted to it in years, the instincts and reflexes were still there. The only thing missing was the blade he had once worn at his side, replaced now by a pouch of reagents, his satchel’s belt harness and a dagger.

He had been right. Xaraz hovered in the doorway, anger rolling off him in almost _visible_ waves. For a long, tense moment, mage and demon stared at one another, sizing the other up and waiting for the other to make a move.

Khadgar had to fight down the urge to act preemptively, his hands going white against Atiesh’s shaft. The Inquisitor, however, had no compunction about acting first. He appeared to relax, and laughed. “So. The whelp took the bait.”

 _Bait?_ Khadgar’s eyes narrowed, though now he started to question just what this was about. It did not help when Medivh moaned from behind him, and he could hear the older mage moving as though trying to get up. He could also hear, dimly, Lilaanu trying to soothe him and get him to lie still again.

It didn’t help that Xaraz was paying more attention to what was going on behind Khadgar rather than the mage himself. He flicked one wrist out slightly, sending a shock of arcane at the Inquisitor to bring the demon’s attention back to him. “You have issue with me?” he demanded once he had eye contact again.

“You ended our Master’s reign. You managed not only to end his plans once, but twice, and enabled his capture by those he had already conquered.” Xaraz moved forward a little, and though Khadgar shifted his grip a little, he did not move otherwise. “You, an insignificant mage – not even a great Guardian.”

“A Guardian does not require power to do the job they are called to,” Khadgar retorted, perhaps a little more sharply than he’d intended.

The Inquisitor laughed. “Hard to do your job without the power to back it up. Especially here.”

Khadgar didn’t reply. He could tell the Inquisitor was buying time, but could not figure out what Xaraz’s plan was. Why was he bantering if it was him the demon was after and not Medivh? What had Medivh been bait for? He watched Xaraz closely, his eyes watching the demon’s hands. There was a distraction happening here and he wasn’t certain if –

“Khadgar!”

Medivh’s voice was almost as clear as his answer a moment before. Too clear. But if he was the distraction…

Khadgar took the chance, looking behind him. The fiery green aura that surrounded Medivh told him all he needed to know. One hand shot out, warding Medivh, and his eyes closed momentarily as the older mage cried out in pain. With his next breath, Khadgar sent him home.

Leaving himself with only instinct to get himself out.

Moroes would take care of Medivh’s wounds – if he survived the teleportation. He cursed his hesitance; if he had not, he could have gotten them both out instead of … this. But this was a threat he could not ignore. They had taken Medivh from his own home, warded and protected, and with Khadgar to guard him.

He had to end the threat. Even if he didn’t manage to get himself home.


End file.
